


A Million Little Things

by Independence1776



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:47:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Independence1776/pseuds/Independence1776
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor and Amy catch Karasian flu. They’re just glad Rory’s a good nurse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Million Little Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sahiya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/gifts).



> Beta’d by [](http://ladyelleth.livejournal.com/profile)[**ladyelleth**](http://ladyelleth.livejournal.com/) and Britpicked by [](http://spiced-wine.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://spiced-wine.livejournal.com/)**spiced_wine**. Any remaining mistakes are my own. The title comes from a quote by Anonymous: “Friendship isn't a big thing-- it's a million little things.”
> 
> This was originally written several months ago for [](http://sahiya.livejournal.com/profile)[**sahiya**](http://sahiya.livejournal.com/) for [Running Hot](http://ariadnes-string.livejournal.com/81197.html?thread=1572397#t1572397), a feverfic commentfic fest, but it took longer to rewrite and edit than I’d originally thought. It’s been sitting on my harddrive for the past few weeks for no other reason than I was scared to post. So, here-- finally-- it is. Sahiya, I hope you like it.

Rory closed the TARDIS door behind them, and watched Amy and the Doctor trudge up the stairs to the console from a safe distance away. He winced when the Doctor dematerialized the TARDIS without bothering to wash his hands first, but he figured it wasn't the first time something like this had happened. Anyway, neither he nor Amy had ever got ill from something they'd touched while in the TARDIS.

Amy waved a hand at the men. “I'm going to have a shower.”

The Doctor looked down at himself. “I think I'll join you. Not that I'll, you know, actually _join_ you, but--”

Rory was having a hard time biting back laughter. “We knew what you meant, Doctor. I don't want either of you catching something.”

“Oh, that's not likely at all. The TARDIS enhances the immune systems of anyone who travels within her.” He scratched his cheek. “Though it works better if you’re actually _in_ the TARDIS at the time.”

Rory raised his eyebrows. “You'll have to explain that. Later, after you've had a shower,” he added when the Doctor opened his mouth.

“Right.” He turned and headed to the other upward-leading staircase. Rory wandered around the console room for a few minutes, letting Amy soak away some of her bad mood. He'd be in one too if _he'd_ been sneezed on by an obviously ill alien. Rory could only suppose the Doctor was used to it. Actually, given Amy had told him that her first solo adventure with the Doctor she'd been covered in space whale sick, it _had_ to be normal for him.

As he made his way up the stairs to Amy and his suite, he was at least relieved to know no one would be catching whatever the alien had.

* * * * *

He should have known better than to even _think_ that as he felt Amy's forehead two days later. She'd only moaned when he'd climbed down from the top bunk and mentioned breakfast. There was usually only one reason she refused to eat, especially because on the TARDIS, next meals were completely dependent on if they'd ended up in trouble on some planet or space station or something. Yeah, she was hot, moreso than being covered by her duvet would account for. He kissed her cheek. “I'll be right back. I'm getting the Doctor and a mug of tea for you.”

“Thanks,” she whispered a bit hoarsely.

Great, Rory thought as the door slid open. Of everything the Doctor had been wrong about, this was high on his list, right under promising Amy five minutes and taking fourteen years.

He found the galley easily-- sometimes that wasn't the case-- and discovered the Doctor reading a novel from the fifty-fourth century while he crunched through a slice of slightly burnt toast. Rory crossed over to the stove and grabbed the teapot. “Tea, Doctor?”

“Ooh, yes, please! Where's Amy?”

Rory put the kettle down on the worktop and turned to look at the Doctor, a steely glare on his face. “She's in bed, ill.”

_Ill_? the Doctor mouthed, finally saying, “How can she be ill?”

“Probably from the other day. I should check you, too.”

“Nah, I'm fine,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Time Lords don't get ill.”

“If you're sure… After all, you said that _no one_ could get ill.”

“I am.” He met Rory's gaze. “She'll be fine. Really. There are some things that the TARDIS just can't protect against if you’re outside her. We'll go back to your room together, and I'll scan Amy. You'll see; it'll be something minor.”

It turned out to be Karasian flu, a disease that, according to the Doctor, resisted all attempts to wipe it out. “Just like the common cold in your century, except a bit more dangerous. Oh, it won't kill you, Amy. You'll just be miserable for a week or so.”

Amy nearly threw the mug at him. “A week. I'm ill, on the _TARDIS_ , and I'm not going to be able to leave my bed?”

The Doctor straightened, almost hitting his head on the top bunk. “Well, I suppose the bunk beds are a bit unsuitable for nursing you back to health. I know-- there's another bedroom nearby with a big enough bed for you two to cuddle up on.”

Rory opened his mouth and shut it. Now was not the time to explain another reason why bunk beds were generally unsuitable. “Do you think you can--”

“I'm not that ill yet, numbskull.”

But Amy leaned on him all the same as they trooped down the corridor. The new room did, as promised, have a larger bed. One big enough for all three of them. Rory refrained from commenting as Amy curled up in the middle of it. The Doctor tucked the duvet around her and they left the room after she muttered something about going back to sleep. Rory leaned against the door and stared at the Doctor. “I don't suppose you're going to tell me how to treat her?”

The Doctor had the grace to look embarrassed. “The infirmary's this way for now.”

As it turned out, the treatment for the flu-- even an alien flu-- hadn't changed much over the intervening centuries: rest, lots of fluids, and keeping the fever down. “What about an antiviral?”

The Doctor glanced over from rummaging through a cabinet. “I'm looking for it. One pill, three times a day, taken for three days. It'll lessen the severity, not cure it.” He grinned and tossed a purple bottle to Rory. “There you go.”

“Thanks.” He put it with the small collection of other things-- medicine, a glass, and various tools-- the Doctor claimed would be useful. He didn't even know what half of them did. He picked up the tray and left the infirmary, the Doctor trailing after him. If nothing else, he clearly felt guilty. Rory sighed. “Doctor, why don't you go to the library or media room and see if there's a few books or movies Amy would like to read or watch?”

The Doctor visibly brightened and trotted off down the hall. Rory bit back a sigh of relief and entered Amy's room. He put the tray on the nightstand and filled the glass with water from the sink in the loo. He handed it to her with one of the antiviral and two paracetamol pills, repeating what the Doctor had told him. Amy smiled in thanks and sank back onto her pillow after she drained the glass. “Planning on spending all day with me?”

Rory shook his head rapidly. Between not wanting to catch the flu she had and her temper… “The Doctor probably will, though. I think he feels bad.”

“He would.” Amy yawned. “Just warn him I don't like being smothered.”

“I will.” Rory bent down and kissed her forehead. “I'll check up on you in a couple hours, possibly with lunch.”

“I don't plan on going anywhere,” she said softly.

On his way out the door, the lights dimmed behind him. He ran a hand across the wall in thanks. He still wasn't entirely used to the fact that the ship was alive, no matter that the Doctor had been adamant about it. She had burned for nearly two thousand years, after all. He couldn't imagine the pain, all to protect River and provide light and heat for the Earth. He shook his head. But that hadn't happened, not really. Still, he didn't like thinking of it too much. Better to keep the memories shut away.

He found the Doctor in the library, next to a table with a stack of at least fifteen books on it. He spun around with a manic grin. “Rory! Which of these do you think she'd like?”

Rory stared. “Something light, maybe a book of paintings? She's asleep now, anyway. I told her I'd bring her lunch in a couple of hours.”

“Oh. Well, I can bring her a book then.” He sank onto the chair behind him. “I really need to apologize to her. A companion getting ill only happens rarely. I don't really recall the last time one did. I think it was at least a couple centuries ago.”

“Centuries?”

“Yeah.” The Doctor smiled ruefully. “I don't really remember what it's like.”

“Basically the same as if one of us is injured. You'll fuss, and she'll be stuck in bed, but be fine in the end.”

“Good to hear.” The Doctor looked up. “Would you mind if I spent some time with her?”

“Of course not! She'd like that, in fact. Just… don't smother her. She turns downright prickly when she's ill.”

“I'll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

* * * * *

Two hours later, Rory brought Amy a bowl of soup for lunch, and sandwiches for the Doctor and himself. The Doctor stayed in the room afterward, sitting upright on the bed next to her. They'd planned on watching a movie from the thirty-fourth century, one Rory had absolutely no interest in. So he left them to it, and went to the library to catch up his own reading.

He checked in three hours later to find them both asleep, the Doctor curled around Amy, on _top_ of the duvet. Well, at least he was conscious of appearances this time, not that either one would have minded if he'd been under them. Rory carefully tugged the duvet out from beneath him, and put it over his shoulders, taking off his shoes, braces, and the bow tie while he was at it. Jeans weren't entirely comfortable to sleep in, but he wasn't going to undress the Doctor unless he needed to.

But he couldn't help but brush the Doctor's face as he undid the bow tie, concerned that he hadn't woken him. Rory hurriedly dropped it on the nightstand and felt his forehead. Definitely hot. Not good. The little he knew of Time Lord physiology wasn't much use here, and actually far more of a worry. Their core body temperature was colder than humans, even though skin temperature was similar. Two hearts, and while he knew the Doctor's basic pulse rates, it wasn't much of anything to go on here. No aspirin, or preferably, any human-formulated analgesics or antipyretics. Chances were, all he'd able to use were wet flannels. But he'd still look in the infirmary. The TARDIS _had_ to have something for her pilot.

* * * * *

Amy opened her eyes after the door slid shut behind Rory. At least he wasn't fussing over her. Yet. But the Doctor? He said he'd only cuddle with her for a few minutes after the movie, that he had routine maintenance to do. But he hadn't so much as mumbled when Rory had moved the duvet from underneath him. _That_ was worrying.

And even from a few centimeters away, she could feel the heat radiating off him. Well, Rory could nurse him back to health just as well as he could her. She hoped. She wiggled further away, overly hot herself. And aching. The thought of rolling over and giving him a talking to about being wrong was exhausting.

The door slid open and Amy tilted her head to see Rory coming around the end of the bed. “Hey.”

Rory smiled and put down his tray on her nightstand. “Hey. Feeling any better?”

“Worse, though not as bad as Himself.” Talking was… unpleasant.

A frown crossed Rory's face as he handed her a glass of water. “I don't even really know how to treat him. I don't dare give him the antiviral. I don't want to kill him.”

“I'm hard to kill, me,” the Doctor said, voice muffled and hoarse.

Amy put the glass on the nightstand and forced herself to turn over. His head was buried in the pillow, eyes squeezed shut. Ignoring her sore throat, she snapped, “You said you wouldn't get ill. You said _I_ wouldn't, either.”

“Obviously something went wrong, and I don't know what. Can we not go into this right now, Pond? My head is pounding, and I feel rather horrible.”

“Welcome to being ill,” she muttered.

The Doctor opened his eyes at that. “I don't--”

“Well, you are now,” Rory said, interrupting them. “I don't even know what medicines will work on you, not even the antiviral.”

“It's pan-species; it'll work well enough.” The Doctor sighed and then coughed a little. “Apart from them, unless the TARDIS gives you something, which I doubt, I'll just have to tough it out. I think I'll recover faster than Amy, though.”

Amy raised her eyebrows. “You don't get ill, and yet you are. What makes you think you'll be better sooner?”

“Um…” the Doctor glanced up at Rory.

Amy bit back a smile. He really didn't know, did he? She reached out her hand. “We'll be fine.”

“Yeah…” his voice trailed off and Rory had to shake him awake to take a dose of the antiviral.

After he was sound asleep-- something that took maybe five seconds-- Rory sat on Amy's side of the bed. “Do you want to go back to our room?”

Amy rolled back over. “No, I think he needs someone with him. If he sleeps through most of it, we'll all be better off.” She snorted. “He was bored watching _Vincent Van Gogh_ paint. If he doesn't have someone to talk to or something low-key to do, he'll get into so much trouble because he doesn't know what he can't do. Knowing him, he'd try to do some really important repairs and pass out in the middle of them, stranding us who knows where.”

Rory sighed. “I think I'd better head to the library and infirmary, then. Hopefully, the TARDIS can pick something out.”

“I'm sure she can,” Amy said, easing the duvet off her.

“Amy--”

“I'm going to the loo, stupid.”

She shuffled her way there, and had rarely been so grateful to get horizontal again. She hated being ill. She couldn't even concentrate on the novel she'd been reading, and had no desire to look at the book the Doctor had brought her (something on a planet's mural paintings, ones that seemed to wiggle on the page). Having the flu was bad enough; she didn't need to throw up.

And yet, when she'd pulled the duvet back over herself, the Doctor-- still sound asleep-- wriggled his way over to her. She bit back laughter, which she knew would turn into a cough, and that _would_ wake him. He really was just like the overgrown puppy Rory had once called him in the privacy of their room. She shifted, so they lay back to back. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but she wasn't going to deny him physical contact when he clearly wanted it. He was so standoffish sometimes…

* * * * *

Ugh. The last time he'd felt this miserable was before he regenerated, or after he regenerated, or _sometime_. He couldn't quite remember. But that was okay. He was in a soft bed, in the TARDIS, curled up next to--

Amy. He carefully moved away from her, suddenly cold without her beside him. He'd even started shivering. That was new. But she didn't move, as sound asleep as he had been. Good. She needed it.

The Doctor carefully stood up, wobbling. Right. Better not to stay out of bed too long. Maybe he could make it to his own room. The lights dimmed and the door to the loo popped open. Maybe not. If She wanted him to stay here, he would. It would be nice to have company.

Actually, it would be better if he could change into jimjams. Rory had done everything else; why hadn't he taken his shirt and trousers off? Oh, yeah. He was sharing a bed with Rory's wife. Humans were so strange sometimes.

He swiftly changed into the jimjams prominently displayed on the lone shelf, not wanting to be out from the warmth of the duvet for any longer than necessary. He hated having a fever and the lack of control it brought with. He downed a glass of water and wobbled back to bed, just as Rory entered the room.

“You're up,” he said, putting a tray down at the table in the corner. He walked over to the Doctor, who had sat down on the edge of the bed.

“For now,” he said quietly. “Rory, I'll find another place to--”

“Don't be ridiculous, Doctor. The bed is more than big enough, and it'll be easier having both of you in the same place.”

“But Amy--”

“Is my wife, and you're her best friend. I don't see a problem. Now, medication. I was poking around the infirmary, and found a few that may work.”

“Oh, good. I was hoping you'd find something,” the Doctor said, shifting to lie down. It was really too much work to sit up. It didn't take long to identify which bottle had the most effective drug, and he gladly took a dose. He wrinkled his nose at the taste, but refrained from spitting it out. The Aoeieao had no concept of pills; their entire diet was liquid. So of course their medicine would be.

“Doctor, is there a book or something you'd like me to bring you?”

He smiled wearily. “On my desk in the library, the brown one and the blue notebook next to it. There should be a pen clipped to it.”

“Both?” Rory asked, raising his eyebrows. “Do you really think you'll be able to work?”

The Doctor shrugged. “It's recreational mathematics, easy stuff. It's better than lying around with nothing to do. I'm not even tired.”

“You do maths for fun?” Amy said, rolling over to look him.

“You do art. What's so different?”

Amy rolled her eyes and then looked at her husband. “Rory, bring me a book on an artist from Earth. I don't care which one.” She glanced over at him. “No offense, Doctor, but the one you brought made me nauseous.”

He blinked. “I didn't think of that.”

Amy patted a hand. “It's fine. There are plenty of other books I can look at.”

The Doctor smiled. “Bring her one of Leonardo Da Vinci. Oh, the stories I can tell about him.”

Amy grinned as Rory left the room. “Well?”

“There was this one time, when I was visiting Paris in 1979 with my then-current companion, a Time Lady named Romana…”

* * * * *

Rory came back with the books placed carefully on a tray next to a tea set. If neither of them were sleeping, they'd appreciate it. And so would he. It would be a nice break, talking to them, rather than checking on them every so often to make sure they didn't need anything. He was less worried about Amy than the Doctor, alien flu or not. The Doctor hadn't been terribly concerned about his wife, so he wouldn't be. Come to think of it, the TARDIS wasn't behaving abnormally, either, so he possibly didn't have to worry about the Doctor. Maybe this would be a break for them, before their next adventure. Hopefully, it wouldn't involve a crashing star liner or alien bogeys.

When he came back to the room, Amy was coughing and the Doctor rubbing her back. The latter looked up at him apologetically. “I was just telling Amy about Leonardo, and--”

Amy waved an arm at him, trying to get her breath back. Rory gave her a mug of tea, which she gratefully sipped. “It happens, Doctor. Don't worry about it,” he said, handing the Time Lord another mug.

Rory sat cross-legged on the foot of the bed. Both of them looked better than they had a few hours ago, which was good. That didn't mean it would last, and he rather doubted it this early on. But he could hope.

Several hours later, Amy was curled up asleep next to the Doctor. Rory sat in the chair he'd pulled up to the Doctor's bedside when he'd asked about the maths. It was completely over his head, but the Doctor had realized that about ten minutes in and switched to something Rory _could_ understand. And he wasn't ashamed to admit it was rather fun.

“So, Rory,” the Doctor said, putting down his pen. “I thought humans usually fought about staying in bed--”

Rory shrugged. “Amy knows better. She's stubborn, but she's sensible. I'm surprised _you_ haven't tried to wander out of here.”

The Doctor chuckled, breaking it off when he started coughing. “If I wasn't so sure I'd collapse halfway to the console room, I would have.” He caught his breath and put the notebook on the table. “But we're in the Vortex, and even though you're on your honeymoon--”

“Not really, Doctor. Not anymore.”

The Doctor shot him an inscrutable look. “Are you sure? Anyway, there's no point in pushing myself. I know you can take care of us both. You're doing a bang-up job of it.”

“It's what I enjoy. I couldn't not take care of both of you.” He studied the light sheen of sweat on the Doctor's forehead. “The antipyretic isn't working, is it?”

“Not really, no. I'm just too tired to do anything about it.”

“Like what?”

“A tepid bath would be nice. But--”

Rory pushed the chair back and stood up. “You didn't want to ask. And this from the man who just complimented my nursing skills. I really have seen it all.”

“You looked away when I was changing in the hospital.”

“That was different.”

The Doctor raised his eyebrows, but allowed Rory to help him up. He leaned on the chair while Rory tucked the covers around his wife. The door to the bathroom was already open by the time they crossed the room, the tub filled with water. The Doctor managed to undress himself and slip into the tub, only needing Rory to steady him as he climbed in. He sunk to his chin. “Oh, this is perfect.” Rory refrained from commenting when the Doctor rubbed the side of the tub. “Thanks, dear.”

The Doctor closed his eyes and put his head back on the tub's rim. Rory waited for a few minutes, and then poked his head out of the bathroom to check on Amy. Still sleeping peacefully. He yawned. It had been a rather long day. If he could get the Doctor back in bed soon, he could actually get a decent amount of sleep before he had to wake up to check on them.

The Doctor didn't complain-- another worrying sign-- when Rory rousted him out of the tub after washing his hair and back into his jimjams and bed. It was rather amusing to watch his facial expressions (far less guarded than normal) as Amy snuggled up to him-- alarmed, with a flick of the eyes toward Rory, and then acceptance, and just a little bit of tenderness. Rory couldn't help but smile fondly. Even with all the trouble the Doctor had caused, there was no denying he cared for them.

* * * * *

“Stop smothering me,” Amy growled as the Doctor tried to wrap an arm around her shoulders as they watched _The Fellowship of the Ring_ (the fifty-first century edition) together while Rory made lunch.

The Doctor wrinkled his forehead. “Amy? What's wrong?”

She huffed and shifted away from him. “I want some time to myself. It was fine, sharing a bed and all when we were both really sick, but I'm recovering. And it would be nice to be in my own bed again.”

The Doctor looked down at his hands. “Yeah, I can see that. I didn't mean to smother you.”

Amy rolled her eyes and grabbed his hands in her right. “It's okay, numpty. You're only a Time Lord.”

The Doctor cracked a smile at that. “I suppose I am. Now, what do you think--”

“Of the actors? What sort of alien _is_ Legolas? He's all… tentaclely.”

“No, the duvet cover. Yes, Amelia, the actors. Or the film. It's a rather good adaptation of the book.”

Amy giggled as the door slid open to admit Rory. “And this from Space Gandalf himself. Did you ever meet Tolkien?”

“Once. He rather resented me, I'm afraid. I corrected him too often.”

“You would,” Rory said, who set their lunch on the table before grabbing the remote and stopping the movie. “I promise it's not soup this time.”

* * * * *

It was rather lonely after Amy went back to her room. Rory checked on him every couple of hours, but it wasn't the same as having someone in the room with him. The TARDIS couldn't talk to him, much less hold his hand. And he really was bored.

He hadn't bothered to finish the movie after Amy left. It was more fun watching it with someone, especially because he'd seen it well over a dozen times by now. None of the books the TARDIS provided (She knew his tastes) were holding his interest, and he definitely didn't want to sleep. He'd done far too much of that the past two days. But that didn't mean he wanted to leave bed. His body hurt too much. At least his fever was mostly gone.

But he still wished he had someone to talk to. As much as River frustrated him, he would have loved to talk to her when they weren't running around saving the universe. And she wouldn't put up with his self-pity.

Right. He _had_ to find something to do. Maths? No. He just wanted to lie there, not moving. A different movie, then. It had been a while since he'd watched any Disney films… Or maybe he could fiddle with the sonic screwdriver. Which he didn't have. Right. Disney it was.

After two Disney movies, he turned to one of the books scattered around the bed. There was only so much fluff he could handle. Rory ate dinner with him, and then disappeared again. Tomorrow, the Doctor decided. Tomorrow he was leaving this room. There were chairs in the console room he could sit in, or there was always the library. Either way, he was tired of staring at the same four walls. And that way, he could pretend he was choosing to be alone. He couldn't resent either Amy or Rory for choosing each other to focus on. They were married. That's what they did. Was that why River trusted him so much?

He shook his head minutely. He was beginning to wonder if he'd ever find out who she was, no matter what she had promised in Amy's garden. He just had to trust her, well, sort-of, well, not really. Okay, he had no choice but to take her at her word that he'd know soon. And that was something he could do. Strangely, he was even looking forward to it.

The door slid open, and he closed his book. “Amy!”

“Hey,” she said. “I thought you'd like some company. Rory's making hot chocolate.”

He grinned. “Sounds wonderful.”

Amy rolled her eyes as she collected the books scattered on the duvet. “Please tell me you haven't read all of them.”

He shrugged. “Not yet.”

Amy snuggled up next to him, fluffing up the pillows so she sat upright. “How many are left?”

“Um, one or two,” he said, scratching his cheek.

Amy just laughed and smiled at her husband as he came in with three mugs. He handed them out, and carefully crawled into bed next to Amy. The Doctor couldn't help but smile when Rory turned on _Fellowship_. This, here and now, was what he loved-- the companionship and belonging, no matter how temporary. Maybe another couple of days of lying around would be good for them. There were two more movies, after all.


End file.
